Rating: M
Chapter 12
He came the next orn and the orn after
that, but each time was the same. Tracks refused his contract of
release, stating that he had not done his part for the exchange and
thus did not deserve it. Soundwave tried numerous times to get Tracks
to accept but the Autobot kept refusing, pointing at the layer of
dust that had quickly began to grow once more on the library shelves.
"See? Dust. If there is no dust,
then the work has been done and I may go," the slave explained.
"But, as there is dust, clearly I have not completed my duties
and henceforth should receive no reward."
This utterly baffled the councilor.
Where before Tracks had been fighting so hard for his freedom, on the
brink of a complete breakdown, he had just upped and changed his
tune. Now he was being deliberately lazy to stay a slave. Soundwave
attempted to prod the other's processor for clues (against his
morals, of course) and yet could still glean no answers. There was a
deep-seated calmness to Tracks, a vague hint of curiosity to the
mortar of his mental blocks yet what was curiouser still was how
Soundwave would handle the situation now.
He attempted to change the terms of
their agreement so as to push the Autobot's freedom onto him.
"Am I so unsatisfactory?"
Tracks glared. "So, what? You want to get rid of me that much?"
Needless to say, a change of tactics
had certainly not gone over well with the multi-coloured mech. Having
tried almost everything short of merely chopping the slave collar off
of Tracks' throat and tossing him out on the street, the Decepticon
finally relented to the fact that, strangely, the winged mech did not
wish to leave any more. At least, not at this point. And though he
would never mention it to anyone, even himself, Soundwave was
relieved Tracks would be remaining under his roof. It was one less
worry on his shoulders.
xxXxXxx
The orns were boring and in this humid
heat, trifling. Staring out the one window looking beyond the borders
of the compound, Tracks pondered like he always did, while trying to
make sense of even his own resistance to being set free. He'd wanted
to run away the moment he had been forced into slavery, and despite
Soundwave being the polar opposite of what the Autobot knew of slave
masters, this palace had felt like a fanciful prison. Now though it
didn't strike the mech nearly as stifling or even horrific. It simply
was an estate, with beautiful gardens cared by loving gardeners and
run by a staff that seemed to admire the Decepticon that employed or
owned them all. It hardly seemed right to call it the Pit when there
was so much evidence countering that statement.
Shuttering his optics slowly, the
Autobot watched as a carriage drove down one of the windy roads just
on the edge of his sight, leaning against the sill lazily. A cool
breeze whispered past, rustling the short sleeves of Tracks' tunic.
His gaze diverted momentarily to stare at the bland fabric, for once
actually hating the colour. A servant's colours were few in
selection; usually reflecting either the Master's tastes or ranking.
They were meant to be indistinct colours so as to strip the servants'
of any identity and make it easier for them to do their business in
the background.
The winged mech felt as if he was
wearing mud of an uncertain hue and was beginning to find the poor
choice of colour palette appalling.
Perhaps, maybe...?
Tracks squashed the thought before it
could fully form. Though Soundwave so far had shown he was not a
total monster like some of his Decepticon kin, the fact remained that
the Autobot did not know the councilor very well and it would be
wiser if he strayed on the side of caution. After all, good deeds
didn't always equate to a good person.
Yet... Soundwave hadn't touched him,
even after everything...
The slave vented hot air, feeling his
frame mould further against the curve of the sill. His "Master"
was indeed a curious one and had warranted Tracks' sudden dismissal
of freedom. Out of all the 'bots he had met since his capture,
Soundwave did not fit. He showed respect where it should not have
been given, and kindness where pain was expected. How he knew about
Moonracer, well, Tracks chalked it up to those chattery rapists that
sold him into slavery, but the councilor's words...
They stuck still.
For Moonracer's sake, Tracks would
stay. He would stay and find out who this mech was that could give
her memory so much honour when he didn't even know her or needed to
pretend to care.
xxXxXxx
Soundwave paced the halls of his estate
slowly, worrying. Reports had come in, stating that the Autobot
uprising had attacked another slave village successfully. That was
the third one so far this week; not to mention, they'd even attacked
one of the Empire's smaller towns prided for clothe trade. That was
outside of the rebels norm and only proved that they were advancing
in their mission. How much farther this would go, the councilor could
not be sure, but Lord Megatron had certainly been irate at this
latest turn of events.
"They dare attack one of our trade
outlets?," he had seethed in court. Shockwave glanced coolly at
the Warlord at the use of such tone, before looking forward once
more. "The audacity- those pathetic Autobots are beginning to
test my patience."
Soundwave had tried to speak in return.
"Suggestion: Perhaps Lord Megatron would like to send out
scouts? Mission: locate Autobot rebel camps, take note, and prepare
for possible infiltration?"
But of course, the Emperor did not care
for such subtlety. He'd brushed the blue mech off, glaring at
Shockwave. "No. I don't have the 'bots skilled enough nor
available to take on such a pointless task. Shockwave and I will
discuss a course of action instead. Go, Soundwave; you are relieved
for the day." Megatron had rose from his chair then and
retreated into his private areas with his assassin, leaving Soundwave
to return home with an aching processor and a sour sensation in his
fuel tanks.
The Warlord had been really upset. His
growing rage at this stab to his pride had sent his thoughts
careening and shouting across the entire audience room. Though
Soundwave had not paid them direct attention, he could still not
completely shake the plots of trickery, imprisonment and genocide
from his own helm. He would never contest Megatron on his choices but
still the smaller Decepticon felt uneasy. The Autobot rebels had
already proven they were more formidable than they had first
anticipated... If tested too hard, would they crack and submit, or
overcome the ones they viewed as their oppressors?
Soundwave paused in his pacing, venting
heavily. To think on this matter was pointless as it was treasonous.
If anything, he should be thinking of ways to help combat any more
infraction into the Emperor's territory by the rebels and possible
re-assimilation of the freed slaves back into their society.
The thought of slaves reminded the
councilor of one very special one in particular and he turned on the
spot, heading slowly down to the library. It had been a whole month
since he'd tried to give Tracks his freedom, but to this orn, the
Autobot remained his slave; though there had been a definite
improvement. Tracks, for one, seemed to be becoming more mentally
sound and he had not had any more violent outbursts towards others or
himself. Soundwave did not want to feel happy, for it was not his
place, but he couldn't help that little flicker of hope that burned
in the depths of his spark. Coming to a pause at the library, the
Decepticon knocked gently on the door before stepping inside.
Tracks was staring into the pages of a
book, nestled comfortably into one of the plush library chairs; wings
facing out over one seat arm, legs draped casually over the other. It
took him a moment to turn away from what he was reading, calm, blue
optics looking the councilor over.
"Yes?"
Soundwave did not speak for an
astrosecond. Truthfully, he didn't have any reason for coming to see
the Autobot, other than to check up on his status. But to say that
would seem a little callous, as if he did not trust Tracks, and the
blue mech really didn't want to upset this pleasant change with
anything dumb that he might have to say. Realizing that he was taking
too long to say something now, the councilor asked the first thing
that popped in his helm: "Inquiry: If you are not busy at the
moment, would you like to take lunch with me out in the garden?"
The Decepticon tried not to look as
surprised as the slave was; it was harder though when Tracks actually
replied.
"...Okay." Tracks tipped his
helm to the side slightly as he answered, lip components pursed a
little in thoughtfulness. "It is late though. Shouldn't you have
eaten lunch a couple cycles ago?"
Casual conversation. This really was a
strange and wonderfully new experience. Soundwave felt his circuits
hum eagerly, even as he fought to keep his frame as rigid as it had
been prior. "Analysis: correct," he said. "Business:
extended later than expected. Shall eat now. Fact: Is lovely out.
Thought you and I might enjoy an afternoon snack together."
The Autobot turned his attention back
to the book and Soundwave felt his confidence falter. Perhaps he had
been too brash in asking Tracks to spend time with him. After all-
"Yes, it is nice." The soft words interrupted the
councilor's train of thought. Looking up, the blue mech was shocked
to see Tracks rising to his pedes; arms raised up over his helm as he
stretched, giving his wings a little shake as well.
"It's been a while since I've been
out in the garden," the slave added, glancing at the Decepticon.
"I think I might like to have a little bite out among the
flowers."
It felt like the councilor was
responding two steps behind. With a belated jolt, he moved to open
the door, holding it open for Tracks as he walked past, before
hurrying on the other's heels. Soundwave paused only for a moment to
tell a passing servant that he was ready to take his lunch now and
that Tracks would be joining him, so everything had to be set up in
the gazebo. After the servant had hurried off to relay the message to
the cooks, the Decepticon pulled up ahead, walking side by side with
the Autobots.
Tracks glanced at him with the action,
but said nothing. And though it was silent their entire trip to the
gardens, it was a pleasant silence that Soundwave found himself
enjoying immensely.
xxXxXxx
"You've done a lot to this place
in the last couple months."
Soundwave looked up from pouring tea
into his cup, his optics resting on the winged mech silently staring
out over the garden. The heat was moderate this orn, stirring up the
pollen but not warping the perfume into a toxic, heady blend; rousing
the insects who buzzed actively as a muffled backdrop around them.
Setting the teapot back on the tray, the councilor leaned back into
his chair, turning his helm so as to appear to be surveying their
surroundings but in fact keeping his gaze on the slave.
"Correction: The gardeners have,"
Soundwave said, servos folded calmly in his lap. "Fact: Very
diligent in their work. They take pride in tending to the plants and
I am proud of their accomplishments."
"Well, I mean, I know that they
are responsible for that," Tracks replied, giving the Decepticon
a slightly exasperated look. He turned back to the garden. "But
it is your overall decision as to what comes and goes in the garden,
is it not? In that way, you too are responsible for the wealthy
growth you have here."
That was true, in some aspects, so
Soundwave merely nodded and did not press the point that he had not
turned one servoful of soil in the seeding of the plants. "Look,"
the Autobot continued, casually raising a finger and pointing to a
cluster of bright flowers thriving within a bush. "Here you have
roses." He pointed next to the batch of tall flowers blooming
from the bases of the garden's few trees in massive clusters. "And
here you have tulips; there is even Jade vine growing up those
trunks. You have so many specimens here, most are not even indigenous
to this area. How did you ever manage to plant them, let alone make
them sprout and thrive?"
The councilor looked over the garden as
Tracks spoke, taking note of the species the slave was cataloguing.
Roses, Tulips, Jasmine, Hibiscus, Orchids, Gladioli, Laelia, Flame of
the Forest, Calatheas... The list went on, and true to what the
Autobot said, most were indeed not indigenous to the Empire and thus
were a wonder to behold in this garden.
"How did you do it?," Tracks
repeated, looking back at Soundwave this time.
The Decepticon smiled beneath the
battle mask, inclining his helm toward the plants. "Fact: Have
been many places in the name of the Emperor; have seen many gorgeous
foliage in my travels. Studied: various species and their habits,
before hand-picking two of each for transfer. Potted them and brought
them here, myself, before giving my notes to the gardeners and firm
instruction on their care," Soundwave answered, a touch of pride
filling his tone. "Status: the flowers have flourished beyond
expectations."
The slave could hear the pride in the
councilor's words and his stare was a silent one as he gazed at the
blue mech for a long moment. Soundwave turned his helm a fraction of
an inch to Tracks, wondering what he was thinking, while losing
himself to how beautiful his optics were and how glorious he looked
leaning casually against the gazebo's seating rail. Eventually, the
Autobot did avert his optics, returning to his sight-seeing of the
garden. "You speak as if this garden were your only treasure,"
he said softly.
"...Fact: It is," Soundwave
replied. "Status: Do not take pleasure out of the slave markets
or how they are orchestrated and maintained. Fact: Are a choice of
the people and the Empire. Workers: are best when choosing the work
themselves, but slaves do exist, thus, will take those into my care
when I know I can offer them better than what they are living then
and there. Truth: can always buy their freedom back when they wish to
here."
Tracks said nothing in response, but
the councilor could sense a slight change to the mech. Good or bad,
he was not entirely certain.
Standing to his pedes slowly, the
Decepticon reached out a servo, politely inviting the other mech to
join him. "Inquiry: Would like to show you something. Will you
be so kind as to accompany me for a moment?"
The winged slave looked apprehensive at
the request, understandably Soundwave felt, but he rose to his pedes
after a moment also, to the telepath's great delight. "What are
we looking at?," Tracks asked, refusing the offered arm and
marching down the gazebo steps.
Soundwave quickly took the lead,
keeping the pace short and glancing back frequently to make sure that
the thinner mech was following. Tracks, of course, was and the
Decepticon made note of how defensive he seemed at constantly being
monitored for his obedience. Drawing back the number of times he
checked for the other's presence, the councilor quickened his pace,
hurrying around the section of brightly coloured Birds of Paradise
with the slave a few steps behind.
Turning into the hidden alcove, Tracks
was surprised to find the large pathway of limestone broke away to a
smaller, tighter path of cobbled fiery-red and black stones. They
meandered through the dirt in what seemed a chaotic pattern,
partially under brush and grass. It appeared greatly unpleasant -that
was until one looked up to where the stone path faded off to nothing
but a few stones; marking their end at the front of a white marble
bench, set before a gorgeous little pond. Soundwave took that moment
to glance back at the Autobot again and felt his spark swell with
pride at the glimmer of awe and admiration in the other mech's
optics.
The winged slave allowed his gaze to
follow slowly across the pond, huddled between large, blossoming
trees and bordered by a myriad of colourful flora around the lip and
just behind a small mound, erected to make way for a tiny waterfall.
In the water itself were a few select species of fish, with
glittering scales of orange, red, white and even gold; diving in an
out the watery roots of lotus and water lilies that speckled the
pond's surface. Tied in with a spattering of sunshine peeking through
the curtain of leaves, the entire sight almost magical to behold.
Gaping, Tracks turned his helm slowly
toward the councilor, unable to tear his gaze away from the beautiful
scenery. "I-is that... Oriental lilies? Mimosa Pudica?! That's
-how did you even find Middlemist Reds? Those are so extremely rare!"
Soundwave beamed behind his battle
mask. "Inquiry: do you like? Fact: Was-" He never got to
finish his sentence though, before the Autobot went rigid; optics
narrowing suspiciously.
"Wait a minute...," he
muttered angrily. "That's... That's my bedroom window!" His
long finger pointed to the frame of a windowsill almost invisible
behind the sweeping branches of one of the trees, but it was indeed
the window directly to Tracks' selected room. Accusingly, he spun
towards the blue mech, all previous contentment and wonder gone, to
be replaced with rage. "What's the meaning of this?," he
demanded. "You've had people peeping outside my window all this
time?!"
"A-assumption: incorrect!,"
the councilor was quick to say. He held his hands out in front of
himself placatingly, keeping his helm tipped downwards an inch.
"Status: Knew you liked reading a-and thought... thought, y-you
might like your own quiet space, a-away from the sun and prying
c-curiosities of t-the other workers."
It was a gift, the slave realized, and
his frame softened a tad awkwardly. Glancing around uncertainly as he
struggled to find something to say, Tracks saw that the little pond
area was secluded, and if he had not noticed this place being built
from his room, then surely no one could see through his window either
without getting closer. Blue, dimmed optics turned back to Soundwave
after a long moment, before he finally vented, arms hugging himself
loosely.
"...u-um... Thank you...," he
mumbled softly.
The Decepticon shuttered his optics in
surprise. He had been certain that their civilized meeting had
reached its end with a simple misunderstanding, but just as quickly
it had turned itself back around; sure, it was a little awkward now,
yet Tracks was not yelling and screaming and turning into a foaming,
destructive force before storming off. That was good in itself but
Soundwave had never expected a thanks in return, no matter what form.
It left him without a doubt stunned... and made a little part inside
of himself buzz joyfully.
Pondering for a klik on how to proceed,
the blue mech eventually turned slightly back the way they had come,
a servo held forward lowly. "Proposition: Have some boltberry
tarts and an exotic tea-blend from Vos back at the gazebo. Would you
care to sample them with me?"
Tracks looked up at him again, and
shrugged, casually, as if nothing almost explosive had just passed
between them. "I might as well, seeing as how I'm already here,"
he replied, taking the lead back to their previous spot.
Soundwave followed quickly.
xxXxXxx
Reports were hard to work on after such
a orn as his. First, there'd been the stress of the morning that
normally would have weighed heavily over Soundwave's helm, but it was
a cloud that he could have pushed through all the same. The events
that had followed after -the surprising invite and acceptance to tea,
accompanied by unexpected and even more pleasurable conversation, and
a serene afternoon in the gazebo, drinking tea and eating foreign
snacks, before it all had come to an end and they had parted ways;
Tracks, to his room for the night, Soundwave to his office- made it
impossible to work. Processor buzzing still over little, but well
noticed facts of the slave's prior life (like where he went to
school, how he knew so much about flora and his favourite authors)
was it any shock than that the councilor could not focus on anything
else?
Leaning back easily in his chair, the
Decepticon vented merrily, completely forgetting about the work he
had come to do in the first place. Was it wrong to admit, just to
himself at least, that he had enjoyed this afternoon so much? That
for once, it felt wonderful to bask in the Autobot's company, admire
his beauty, and not be chewed out for it? Quietly, Soundwave wondered
to himself if he'd ever have a chance like this again. It was too
good to hope for but what if he could just show Tracks that he was
different than the others he had come across thus far, maybe they
could...?
Across the compound, staring at the
ceiling above his berth, the winged slave lay silently. His tunic
billowed over the sheets, and absent-mindedly, he was aware that the
bottom hemming was lifted too far up his thigh to be considered
comfortable given his status. Yet there were bigger things on his
processor, filling his thoughts and leaving him mute as he pondered
and pondered and pondered. Nothing though could offer him any real
answers; not the shadows on the walls, the hollow wardrobe, the
whispering garden or the stars that glimmered brightly in the
darkening sky above.
While one reminisced and foolishly
dreamed, the other pondered and pondered, until the sky lit with
fire, announcing the break of dawn.
A night of memories, half-wishes,
uncertainties and ever-looping thought processes would decide where
their lives would take them as the week wore on.
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